My Skin

My skin is not good right now. Unusual for me...very...
I was so concerned about the weird rash near my forehead that I rang the doctors this evening, explaining I had been ill this morning...horrible vomiting from a tummy bug...still struggling with my burning throat.
'It's a choking rash,'the doctor said, rather triumphantly I thought.
'Oh,' I replied.
He sensed my confusion and explained that if someone had tried to strangle me I would get a similar rash! (Well, that makes it alright then.)
Unfortunately, I seem to have burst lots of blood vessels under my skin with the sheer force of me being so ill, vomiting down the loo...
'It will get worse before it gets better,' he added, so reassuringly.
Great.
I feel fantastic.

Words Over The Water

Cold evenings
cold nights...

Still at the office.
Still

Wishing you were here.

Restless and awake.
No sleep, not for the right reasons.
Ah, no. Not for the right reasons.
(She smiles and ebbs with tiredness.)

She fidgets and turns.
Words all jangling
Memories pivoting...the pieces falling
In

Amongst the jigsaw.
Webs and words weaving and meshing.
Webs and words.

Silky lines...
Invisibly floating and gliding
Over the water.

(Prettyintelligentprincess)

Porn Girl

I have been a naughty girl, a porn girl.
Watching the guys give it...the girls who take it, the guys who take it.

Now that turns me on.

Nothing better than a raunchy strap-on scene to get the juices flowing.

I Refused Him

I did.
I have refused.Turned him down.

I don't feel bad, insecure or guilty.

I feel relief.
I am glad I found the strength and can ignore the need....

But..I have drowned in self pleasure every evening and every morning alone...for weeks on end now.

I reach a beautiful orgasm, but it feels the same...I need to feel someone else, within, next to, beneath...a different and wonderful climax without the subversive guilt.

Waxed and exfoliated, my smooth body has no admirer, except the deep eyes of the lonely brunette that shimmer in the mirror.

If...

If he holds you, do you hold him back?
If he kisses you, how long do you feel his lips.
If he carresses and moves
his arms...
do you melt and fold into him?

If he sends fluttering words
If he dispatches graceful images

If you want
If you feel
If you can...

If the human touch is there,
do you open your arms?

Feeling Unsure.

To have an opportunity to be utterly naughty, rude, immoral...
To have the childcare taken care of...
To actually have the time...
Is an amazing thing actually.
Usually, I grab it with both hands and open thighs.

But...
I hoped so much he'd cancelled this Friday.

Nails done today. I relaxed.
Wax...a hot one on those girly areas...done. No pressure.

Looks good.
Feels good.


Then he texts.
Mr Home Office is pushy.
I don't like pushy...but I don't like feeling so lonely either.

Moments In Time

He is so much better than I ever could be.
So much more successful.
Assured.
Revered.

I cannot give you the words to describe him.
Yet, I have, when uninhibited.
When frank and open and mostly unaware of who he is; what he does.

Feeling deeply satisfied to know I remember every moment.
Feeling quietly contemplative that he should spend time with me.

That he did spend time.
With me.

A Day Out

At the Museum of Science and Industry, Manchester...UK.
Great day.

Cobbles and tunnels and steam.
Paintings and motion and Mona.

It's Just Not

It's just not the red feathering of the beautiful sky,
It's not the deepness of the clouds.
It's just not the promise of love or lust.
It's just not the hiding of one who cries

...with dark tumultuous greyness.

It's just not
the moment we want.
It's just not the moment we dream.

It is only a moment we catch and hold,
A fragile and china glimpse.
...It's just not the sound we want to hear as it smashes,
smatters
tinkles away,
and finally rests in shards and shrieks.

It's just not the whole;
it's just not what we may
grasp.

It is..
but a moment.
It is not the whole.
It is not the full.
It is not the drowning sensation of too much...
It is just not that.

It is just not
nothing
at
all.

©Prettyintelligentprincess

Numb

Alcohol has blurred the brain,
The body is blurred too.
Numb.
Peaceful.
Calm.

Feeling him on my lips
Feeling him tentatively between my thighs,
His hands smoothly over my hips,
Atop of me,
Astride...

Numb.
Peaceful.
Calm.

Not even a flicker,
A shiver
Not even a gorgeous, juicy, secret quiver
Escapes from me now.

For now, I am numb.
I am the only one
On
Top
Of
Me

The only one astride.

©Prettyintelligentprincess

Too Much

I feel too much.
Deep breaths and stillness walking in.
Empty and yet filled with abrasion and political silence.
She lies.
Lies.
Lies some more.
Sitting within my shell I dignify my quietness.
Quietness against the barrage.
I feel inadequate.
I feel weak.
I feel I've let the side down.
I feel.
I feel too much.

Brittling composure and fabricated ruin.
Fabricated failure.
Threatening.Threatening.

No waterproofing today.
Leaving a dark, black mascara trail.
The hands are clasped.
The heart absorbs another jolt of hurt.

When will it end.
Glimmering, lightning flash of self harm, self death.
Images of the knife that won't cut through.
Mind standing up for the raised blue vein.

Hauntings are back.

©Prettyintelligentprincess

Glass Tears

It is warm
wet..
downward in rivulets
down her skin

Not stopping
but weeping

she is bewildered and tastes the salt
of her tears.

Still a fragile girl
Under the skin
of her...

© prettyintelligentprincess

Crucible Melting

I wince.
Her words pierce
my mind.
Strained smile, fleeting distance as
the cool and distant response
I give
lands -
on an empty moment.

Empty she is
...a bitchy shell
of brittle threat and stinking yolk.

And more -
and more -
- and more -

...as I walk away,
She tips the tipping point
Flooding the blood
Pushing down the lid

over my words.
My voice.

Me.

(c)prettyintelligentprincess

Swooning Sleepless

Hate the concept
dread the thought
of sleep
she said.

Swooning.

@prettyintelligentprincess

Train Journey

He ate his sandwiches,
the old man,
then reached for a soft banana;
dessert.

'I'm watching him,' he said.
'I wish I was watching him too,' she said.

It is dark as the train burrows through the blackness...
...it is dark here too.

Dark.
Mixed and rapid response.
She giggles, then chuckles
deeply, into her glass of red.
many women,
many.

'No,just one,' he said.

'I would love you to have me,' he said.

A precious time capsule, still.
Precious and secure.
Locked.

Across the ocean
across the spinning of time,
she wraps herself around
around
and around...

inside the silky web of
adulterous cushions and drapes...

Inside the secretness
Of her other life.

A Coldness Comes

The air bites
and is cold.
She wants the warmth of him.
The entwining
The colours
The moments
The words.

Still and brittle now.
Still.

A few words jangle over the invisible ocean.
Falling softly inside the smooth screen

of her phone...

glimmering and warming into her hands.
Her fingers dancing on the keys
as she sends her words back

floating over the cold sea...

the watery link

that is deep

deep and constant.

There is someone out there
wishing they were here.

Rolling Crystal

'It's not me at all,'she murmurs
Twining the thoughts inside her tumult;
Twizzling them around her pondering finger
Falling amongst the tangles in her hair.
'It's not me.'
'It's not.'

Her feet sink inside the dirty golden carpet,
Deeply wrapped in the sifting, shifting rolling ground.
Whining and whooshing, the whiteness of gulls sweep the invisible ceiling above
her head,
Silver cobwebs of thought
falling over her face.

'Murmur murmer...' mutters the sea.
'But, it's not me,' she whispers.
'Not me.'

Foamy whiteness hisses around the ground
upon which she walks
Reflecting her confusion and confiding in her feet.
'It is...'
Shushing and shooing her thoughts into silence.

Stepping into the sharp rolling crystal
of the sea,
She shimmers, drowning in her reflection.
Drowning in her mirror.
Slashing ice upon her skin
Wanting to fall deeply within her
dark depths.

'No'
the 'o' fills
with water.
Water from the crystal sea.

'Oh'
'Not me.'
©prettyintelligentprincess

Dream

Yellow rectangle of light behind her..door open..open and rectangular.
Above a plane a huge noisy plane lifts almost vertical...
She misses it..yet again....
Streets and houses and roofs and intensity...closing in.
She needs to leave.
She needs to get back.
There is a garden, a pond....and strange creatures; moving and turning and swimming and disappearing.

Forests in the distance and a steep descent into the comfort of the valley and then the steepness of the escape...that never happens..

Again the plane.
Again she needs to leave.
She cannot get through...she is stopped and blocked and silenced and halted.
Her feet cannot move.

Invisibilty closes in....powerless and suffocating.

Dreams of Spaces and Water and Fire

Climbing those steps,
over and over...vast pools of emerald water,
delicate ripples and spaces in the walls.

Coolness penetrating the humid heat;
I searched some more.
Stretching runways and disappearing planes,
consumed by flames...again.

Searching for peace and space and green trees...
no money, empty purse.
I could not remember the number, the code.

I saw her face and smiled.
She asked me and I wondered.
The car...infront of the old house.
Parents, fear, loathing, fear.
Watching from the window, I could not move...
still fearful of those who loved me.

No escape.

Now, no escape.

Giant birds
disintegrating
in the blue skies with orange flames.
More cars outside the house.

Men and loud voices frighten me.
Entrapment.
Ensnared.
Silently screaming for love.

©Prettyintelligentprincess

Naked Dreams

Tickets to London.
Trains and escalators down long glass corridors,
Looking over her shoulder, smiling.
Slowly filling with raindrops - the phone,
Pressing the buttons that won't press - the phone.
Nothing works and then she's alone.

Escalators melting into stairs.
Trains melting into horses and carriages.
She's evolving and is seated in the back of the black cab.
London views melting into grimey seaside cheapness.

An unwelcome friend has influenced her, the one who was smiling.
Unsmilingly, they leave the black cab and leave her alone.
Naked and alone.
Perched high on the elevated back seat for all to see.

Solitude is shattered as the large, rough men climb in.
All they want is to know that the fight will happen.
'Will the fight happen?'
'Will it?'
'Where?'

Murmuring her assent,
They dissolve away.

She looks down upon the greenery of lawns and gardens and fenced domesticity from her soaring view.
She swoops as she flies.
She floats, fluttering butterflies

Inside her.
Searching and wanting
And not seeing the sky.
The earth is all below
Upon which she never lands.
©Prettyintelligentprincess